


All Tomorrows Come from Yesterdays

by panther



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panther/pseuds/panther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva is old, headmistress and not content. Wondering about things past, she toys with the possibility of going back and changing everything but when she gets there, does she have the guts to go through with it? Will her past self even believe what she has to say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Tomorrows Come from Yesterdays

**Author's Note:**

> from a lj fest with the prompt: Minerva, aged 85, goes back to 1995 to inform herself of the things to come.

_2010_

A warm breeze swept through the corridors of Hogwarts as its Headmistress Minerva McGonagall made her way back to her office at the end of her rounds. She shifted uncomfortably under her green robe as she made her way up past the gargoyle and waved her hand to start a new pot of tea before she had even sat down. The summer was coming and it was going to be hot, she could feel it in her bones. Minerva didn’t like the heat. She was too old and it only irritated her and affected her student’s concentration. The only good thing was that it was near the end of term, only a few days to go, and the holidays were coming. She needed the holidays more now than ever, at 85 years old. She couldn’t quite believe her own age at times. Where had the years gone? All her life, all the things she might have done and all she had was a school full of students who would never fully be united. Despite it ending over ten years ago, the war still divided generations of witches and wizards.

She had started at this school at eleven years old and it seemed she would finish there with scarcely anything else away from the old castle to show for her time on earth. Her reputation was legend, perhaps, and her merits a formidable list but the many things she might have done in the Ministry and the world had been put aside for the pleasure she got from teaching the next generation of witches and wizards.

Many of those said witches and wizards were either dead or scarred for life, whether physically or mentally, by something future generations would only learn about in a class they hardly paid attention to. Sometimes she wondered if things would have been different if she had known. That was a thought that began years ago, just after the last battle ended really. If she had known the battle would come to the castle before Potter had appeared in front of her, would it have changed things? Would she have reacted the same way? Would she have done things differently? Would her knowing have saved lives? She couldn’t know the answers but when she sat, poured her tea and rummaged in her biscuit tin for two pieces of shortbread, the same tin she had shoved at Harry Potter so adamantly when he had been thrown from the toad’s classroom so many years before, she couldn’t help but wonder. Really wonder.

It hardly seemed that knowing could make things worse. She didn’t need to give everything away. Just enough to make it possible to save a few, maybe be more prepared, give herself a chance at making something more for herself and the people around her, the people that _should_ be around her.

Or maybe she was an old woman with foolish ideas, rising above her station and thinking she could be the next Albus when no one could ever replace him. But maybe if she never tried, she would never know.

***

 _1995_

Minerva’s tea had long gone cold but she was hardly aware of that. Darkness had descended from when she had first sat down but she hardly noticed that either. Diggory was dead. Cedric Diggory that she had taught from an eleven year old child to a seventeen year old man ready to take on the world was dead. Voldemort was back. Potter was in the hospital wing and a man she had trusted with children for months and thought she knew was a Death Eater. It wasn’t anything she could get her head around. She couldn’t even begin to understand. It seemed like, after so many years of relative peace, she was about to be pulled into yet another war. Another war of horrors which, within hours, had already claimed its first victim.

It made her heart constrict in her chest, _ache_ , at the thought of it all. If she was honest with herself, really honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she could handle another war. She would find a way to stand by Albus, defend the children, but when she was younger and it was a new threat, there was so much more _vigour_ and determination to defy this mad man who thought he could take over the world. This time, she knew what was coming, death and despair. The spells she taught these children would be those involved in the murder of their classmates if they didn’t find a way to stop the Dark Lord now.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Minerva could already see it was going to rage on for years just like before. The Minister didn’t believe it was even happening and Albus was an old man now, an old man that people were going to doubt, she could feel it, because they had thought the Dark Lord had been defeated before and it hadn’t been enough. A miracle from a babe had saved them before, what was going to save them this time?

Surely....surely Albus didn’t expect it to be Potter?

“I remember sitting there, where you are now, thinking your thoughts.”

Minerva froze and immediately shook her head. She thought she heard...but that was absurd and she must clearly be tired, delusional, and in need of sleep that would never come. It was with a mixture of horror and surprise that she watched a clearly older version of herself appear from the shadows of her office and take the seat opposite her with a sad smile. She had her wand pointed at the middle of the imposter’s forehead before she could think about it.

The other Minerva simply laughed, tired and resigned.

“Yes, there is going to be a lot of that in the coming years I’m afraid.”

Ignoring the remark, Minerva tightened her hold on her wand.

“Who are you? Give me a reason not to kill you right now.”

The older Minerva tilted her head and removed her wand slowly from her robes, raising a hand in surrender, before placing it on the desk and rolling it towards her younger counterpart.

“To get to the point, because I know that is all I would want, I’m from 2010, fifteen years into the future from...after this conflict has ended. I came back in time using help I...obtained from the Ministry for a short time to warn you of what is to come and hopefully...soften the blow.”

The younger Minerva snatched the wand from the table, never lowering her own and confirmed it was the same one she held in her hand, if a little more worn around the handle. She wasn’t naive enough to believe it was impossible, unlikely maybe but... still possible. The older version of herself, complete with more wrinkles on her face, around her eyes and a frailer demeanour was content to wait and merely survey her as she tried to wrap her mind around what was happening. To think about what must have happened to convince this future self to risk so much to come back, because time was such a dangerous thing to interfere in, was almost enough to stop the deputy head asking her any questions at all. The possible answers terrified her.

But had she ever done anything without considering its full impact? Or had the impact of war been enough to erode that sensibility all together?

“What....what was it that you wanted to tell me? What was worth risking so much?”

The older woman looked pained, her eyes flashing around the office as if...as if it wasn’t someplace she truly recognised anymore. The present Minerva felt a pang of grief as she recognised something within herself, literally, that meant she looked that way because it truly _didn’t belong_ to her anymore. So this woman wasn’t the transfiguration teacher of Hogwarts in 2010 and if she was only 85 as she claimed then the reasons for that were not things she wished to consider. Not at all. She wasn’t old enough to have left but...so many things could explain it.

“There is a war coming. If I got my calculations correct then you know this. If I got my calculations correct this is June of 1995 and Cedric Diggory is dead, Harry Potter lies in the hospital wing and the Minister and Headmaster have had a parting of ways.”

The present Minerva could only nod, chilled by the matter of fact brogue opposite her. The elder woman nodded to herself and slowly reached over for her wand, moving slowly until she could be sure her other self wasn’t going to hex her. Once she had it in her grasp, she rattled the abandoned tea pot and made a fresh pot, pouring two cups without asking and taking a sip.

“Oh yes, if there is one thing that won’t change, it is what a cup of tea will do for our wary bones.” She stated, carrying on without waiting for a response. “I can’t tell you too much. This is dangerous enough but I hope that if I can give you a few facts, you might be better prepared and...hopefully not as much will be lost. “

“Does this mean I can assume we win this....war?” the present Minerva inquired as she summoned a bottle of scotch from her cabinet and added a drop to her tea to her counterpart’s smile.

“We both know that it is dangerous to assume. I can tell you this will be long and difficult and many times it seemed...that there was no end in sight, no end to the suffering. War is such a terrible thing and it never passes without the loss of innocents and good people. I...don’t know if many better or more innocent than Diggory were lost.”

She stopped, seeming to fall back in to horrific memories that were to be Minerva’s future.

“I make it though, clearly. Does Hogwarts? You look around with such...pain.”

The older woman stared at her and took another sip of her tea.

“In a fashion. It is hard to remember. The Castle was...two great battles will be fought here and there will come a time the light will lose full control. Great courage was born in that time and the Castle will not fall. Not quite, but it was enough to destroy the hearts of many.”

“Dumbledore seems to think this war will be fought by Potter. He won’t say it outright but....Potter has always seemed so vital to Albus.”

Again, pain seemed to crumble across the older woman’s face but the present Minerva could not know which name it was in response to, or if it was both. The younger women tried to ignore the warning signs creeping up one by one.

“Harry Potter will always be a hero and if there is one thing I must tell you it is that you must trust him. He is a boy, a hot headed foolish boy but when the time comes, _you must trust him_.”

“And Albus? Surely he will fight the Dark Lord? Surely he will end this madness no matter how long it takes and no matter how many lose faith!”

The future headmistress simply took another sip of tea, partially to hide her face and partially to give her a moment to collect herself. She remembered that unwavering faith in Albus, how hard his death had been, how difficult it was to transfer the faith she had in him to the shoulders of a seventeen year old that stood between the rest of the world and destruction.

“Albus will never give up but Albus cannot win a war himself. This break with the Ministry will prove vital in the coming year and you must hold your ground, protect the students!”

“Protect them? From what? This school is the saf....No?!”

“The Ministry will interfere at Hogwarts. Albus will be closely watched and the students, _Potter_ , will need you.”

The present Minerva was pale and strained, unable to say anything, unable to _do_ anything. Her counterpart surveyed her with a heavy heart. Could she say more? Was it safe to tell her of Severus? Would that take more lives than it would save? She might be able to save Sirius but there was no way of knowing how much his death had pushed Potter to be the man who was _capable_ of saving them all. She wasn’t entirely certain she had thought this through properly, not entirely certain she was strong enough.

“Who will we lose?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Did you not come back to save them?!” the Deputy headmistress cried, only for the older woman to rise from her chair, pull her cloak closer to her body.

“I’m running out of time. I can’t tell you names. If I do...I could end up costing the lives of others, I could give you information that would change far too much but...I had to at least try to improve things, give you an inclination! I have to be prepared this time! I can’t spend time in denial, you can’t!”

“So I have to sit and watch these people die knowing you, _I_ , might have done something to save them?!”

“It is a war. People die!”

It was harsh, harsher than the younger woman ever expected to hear from her own lips and it made her think. She was right. She could save people but in another way by knowing too much and directly interfering she could kill even more.

“So what is it you want me to know?”

“That people that shouldn’t die will; that people who can’t be trusted are found out too late and those we might trust ignored when they should be heard. This school is our place in the war and when the time comes, _Potter_ is vital to everything. You will know when that time comes. I can’t tell you what will happen as I might have hoped; I can’t tell you who to trust but our instincts were often right. I can only tell you there is always a light at the end of the darkness and when the time comes...good heavens I’m fading!” she suddenly cried out, and Minerva watched, as she literally faded from sight.

“ _Trust Harry Potter! Trust him!_

With that, she was gone and Minerva was left in her office, on the 24th of June 1995, facing a war that was not of her creation but that she was clearly going to be a huge part of. She slumped in her chair, grabbed the bottle of scotch she had summoned to her desk and didn’t bother to pour a glass, merely ripping the lid off and taking a stiff drink.

She would never know if she changed anything. If she had, she wouldn’t remember what was and if she made things worse, she would know nothing of the better. Surely she didn’t know enough to change the outcome completely? But maybe the knowledge she did have was enough to set that fire in her veins, a new determination that she would get to where her future self was, alive in a world where whatever the cost might have been, they had won the war.

Trust Harry Potter. All that and all she was really told was the one thing she knew in her heart she would have done anyway.


End file.
